


Love is a curse

by JaqofSpades



Series: Through the Peephole [1]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, TSC Prompt 288, Voyeurism, allusions to uncle/niece incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:56:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie moves silently into the armoire, then immediately falls away from the peephole, shaking. She’d been prepared to see Monroe, prepared for the black hate that would rise at the sight of him, but not this. Never this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is a curse

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Bass/Charlie/Miles fill for The Second Coming: claim 288 “Through the Peephole”. It’s probably better described as Bass/Miles with overt talk of Charlie/Miles and overtones of Bass/Charlie/Miles but be warned: it’s dark and twisty, definitely not a feel good piece.

Her world has shrunk to a circle.

Charlie presses her eye to the peephole, and finds her room in mirror image. There’s a fireplace, just like hers, and a bed almost identical to the one she had ignored until common sense prevailed. She can practically see Miles rolling his eyes and telling her to sleep while she can, because the minute he busts her out, they’ll be running for weeks.

It’s his training that tells her to memorise the guard changes, and search the room top to bottom for anything that can serve as a weapon. The stack of blankets in the armoire could be used to blind someone, or muffle footfalls … or to hide a peephole, she discovers.

She would have assumed it was just another guest room like hers, except … there’s a lot of servants that bustle in and out. An endless supply of whiskey on the mantle above the fireplace. And an occupant who never seems to be there, even if he occasionally leaves a shirt thrown over one end of the bed, or a book open on the bedside table.

Until the night she is woken by the tramp of boots and what sounds like the thunk of a body hitting the floor next door. Charlie bolts upright, her ears straining to make sense of the sound, but only manages to catch the end of a curt dismissal.

“Leave him, and get out.”

That deadly rasp is unforgettable, and all the more terrifying for being so softly spoken. Charlie shakes with fear at the thought, but the conclusion is inescapable: her peephole looks directly into the bedroom of Sebastian Monroe.

Charlie moves silently into the armoire, then immediately falls away from the peephole, shaking. She’d been prepared to see Monroe, prepared for the black hate that would rise at the sight of him, but not this. Never this.

Miles had come for her, just like he said he would.

Charlie swallows the bile that threatens to drown her, and forces her eye back to the peephole.

Monroe has hauled Miles to his feet, one arm hooked in the ropes that imprison his arms behind his back, his entire body pressed up against her uncle’s back as he holds a knife to his throat. He’s saying something, talking fast, but the words are drowned out by her own panic.

Miles looks more defeated than Charlie has ever seen him, head hanging low and black eyes bleak with despair. A scream rises in her throat as it occurs to her she is about to witness an execution.

“Bass,” her uncle croaks, and his head falls back onto the monster’s shoulder.

“Miles,” their enemy moans, and slides a shockingly pink tongue along the line of her uncle’s jaw, dropping the knife to pull his chin around for a biting, angry kiss.

Charlie stares, dazed, senses struggling to comprehend the turn of events. But there’s no arguing with the clank of belt buckles and the slither of clothing hitting the floor, or the way the President makes her uncle curse and shake. She had expected torture, Monroe’s legendary cruelty let loose on public enemy number one. Not this.

Not the curse that rings in the otherwise quiet room when Monroe’s long fingers rake over tight male nipples. Not the wandering hand that dips into her uncle’s gaping jeans to release his cock, rampant and visibly dripping. Not the flushed cheeks and the desperate arch of her uncle’s spine as Monroe licks and bites a path down to his tailbone, then slides a hand between her uncle’s buttocks for a purpose she refuses to think about.

Not the words that spring forth from his lips, awful and illuminating.

“Please, Bass. Please. Fuck me. I need you. God, after all this time, I still need you,” he sobs, tears glinting on his cheeks.

Charlie slumps to the floor of the wardrobe, overcome, their dark sensuality stamped on the inside of her eyelids. Nora had tried to warn her, she sees that now. Miles had dragged his feet every step of the way, said he couldn’t do this, and now she knows why. This is the defeat he had been terrified to face all along.

She swallows a sob, hating herself for her disgust and horror. He’s still her Uncle Miles. Her champion. This changes nothing. She’d follow him into battle, or to the gallows. Perhaps she owes it to him to witness an even more painful defeat.

“What will you give me, Miles? How could you possibly make it up to me?”

“I brought her to you.”

Her? Who – surely Miles couldn’t mean …

“Rachel will do what she’s told now.”

Monroe’s laugh is a rasp torn straight from hell.

“Oh, come on Miles. You don’t give a damn about what Rachel does or doesn’t do. Tell me what you actually wanted. Why you really brought me your delicious little niece.”

Charlie’s heartbeat deafens her, but there’s nothing that could tear her away from this conversation now. Not even the sight of Monroe’s fingers moving, sliding, pressing until Miles’ entire back bows.

The words surge forth in a torrent, poisonous and unforgettable.

“Never forgot my promise. She’s old enough now. Your first lady. Matheson and Monroe.”

“Have you fucked her yet?”

“She’s my niece, Bass. No.”

“Like the Butcher of Baltimore cares about shared blood. I know how you like your girls, Miles. So brave and beautiful? I know you want her.”

“She’s just a kid, Bass. Twenty one years old.”

“And sweeter for it. Is she untouched? You plan on being her first? How many times did you have to walk away from her just to get some relief, Miles?”

“She’s Ben and Rachel’s kid!”

“But you want her.”

Miles is pissed now, thrashing under Monroe’s attentions, and Charlie almost cheers at the familiar look of rage that tells her he’s preparing to turn around and flatten the man.

But then Monroe reaches around, and wraps his hand around her uncle’s cock, pumping it roughly as his other hand twists and plunges in a way that makes her uncle writhe and beg.

“Admit it,” Monroe demands. “You want her.”

“Yes, damn, you. From the very first minute she walked into my goddamn bar!” her uncle shouts, and Monroe crows in triumph as he yanks his fingers free, then shoves Miles forwards over the bed. Her uncle, her beloved, treacherous uncle, makes a throaty sound of satisfaction and grabs for the bedposts. Monroe surges forward, making Miles howl with pain as he takes the President’s cock hard and deep.

“Deal with it,” Monroe snarls, “you sick, incestuous fuck.”

Charlie’s knees give out as she watches the reviled dictator hammer his punishment home, taking his pleasure relentlessly while ignoring her uncle’s painfully swollen cock. Miles begs fruitlessly, Monroe promising to kill him if he even thinks to touch it, and then taunting him when they lay side-by-side, after.

“How desperate do you have to be, Miles?”

“What?”

“To call her in. Make her suck you off.”

“Don’t Bass. She loves me. I can’t.”

“Shall we ask her? Or how about I play the big, bad General and put a knife to your throat while she bounces on your cock, all for the love of Uncle Miles? Would you like that brother? Have your cake and eat it too?”

Miles doesn’t have to reply. She notices the wash of hunger first, even before his cock starts to spurt. “Fuck, yes,” he moans, and “ride me baby,” and then just her name, over and over as the cum stripes his belly.

Monroe laughs, and pushes himself up on one elbow to watch. But his eyes keep flicking up, as if his interest lies elsewhere. He makes her wait, though.

Miles is snoring when Monroe slides from the bed and makes his way across the room. Charlie rears back as he suddenly looms large in the peephole, sipping casually on a glass of whiskey retrieved from somewhere she can’t see.

“Hope you enjoyed the show, Charlotte. That used to be your mother’s room, you know. Miles had the peephole put in so she’d take the fucking hint and stop trying to climb into his bed.”

“So I’ve got to wonder. There’s no way he doesn’t know exactly which room I had you put in, and if he trains his niece anything like he trained his recruits, you found that peephole within hours of getting here. Which begs the question – is he getting forgetful in his old age, or is all of that good guy stuff just total bullshit?”

Monroe’s smile is snakelike as he offers her a whiskey salute then ambles back to the bed, leaving Charlie slumped in the bottom of the armoire, haunted. Miles was family! He was her uncle, her protector. He’d never … what?

Lie to her? Conceal his plans? Turn out to be someone she’d never expected?

Like her mom, her bitterness whispers. Like her Dad?

And the kicker. How about you, Charlie Matheson? Is it like you?

She can feel them fluttering in her chest, the excuses. Monroe had corrupted him. Power, war, loss. Maybe Nora simply hadn’t been enough. Then she finds one more reason, and it’s such a seductive, spreading poison that her breath catches in her throat.

Maybe she’s looking at this the wrong way. They are good at surviving, her family. And they liked to win, whatever the route to victory.

Perhaps this is her uncle’s latest lesson. Knowledge. A painful but necessary truth. And because they are family … he’s giving her a choice.

Charlie straightens her spine and swipes away her tears.   Turns back to the peephole, and lets the world shrink to a circle once more.   They’ll be waking up soon, and if she knows Miles, he’ll have new lessons to impart. Survival strategies.

Time to grow up, and learn to be a Matheson.

_fin_


End file.
